


Respite

by Tedronai



Category: The Malazan Book of the Fallen - Steven Erikson
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 15:43:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17686340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedronai/pseuds/Tedronai
Summary: In the midst of battles, Anomander Rake and Caladan Brood find time for something else.





	Respite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/gifts).



> I've wanted to write this ship for a while, and I'm glad I got an excuse to do it now! I hope you enjoy it~

The Tiste lord’s chambers were dark. Caladan Brood had come to expect this; Anomander hadn’t needed light to see by even before embracing the draconean powers he now wielded, and the same went for his Andii followers, draconean blood or no. The darkness hid little from Brood, though he imagined it would get oppressive if he had to dwell within for longer periods of time.

Anomander stood with his back towards the door, studying an ornate tapestry that covered most of the opposite wall. It was not of Tiste making; the hands that had woven it, as well as the events depicted, had long since faded into obscurity. Little remained of the civilisation that had produced the thread, the craftsmanship, the artistic vision.

Brood waited patiently for the other man to acknowledge his presence. Anomander had said once, in a fit of frustration, that it was fitting that he was a stonemason for he surely had the patience of stone. It had not been a compliment, at the time, though Anomander had since come to appreciate the value of patience. Sometimes Brood wondered whether he remembered the exchange; it had been but one among many such near-arguments in the early days of their acquaintance.

Anomander spoke softly, “I wonder, will somebody, some day, stand in Kharkanas, in the Citadel, staring at a tapestry or a painting, trying to puzzle out the history that created it?”

“Maybe,” Brood replied.

The sword Dragnipur lay on the table in the middle of the room, scabbarded and bleeding darkness somehow even more intense than the natural lack of light. It had claimed countless souls in the recent battles, and it would claim yet more in the days to come. If condemning the souls to its eternal prison bothered Anomander any more, he gave no sign, not when wielding it upon the battlefield nor when he set it aside at the end of the day. Someone might have judged him callous for it, cold and unfeeling, but Brood knew better.

“Is it enough?” Anomander spoke again after a stretch of silence. “Fighting for any just cause to stave off the despair of our existence… Can it be enough?”

For all the wars the Tiste Andii had fought since arriving in this world, that was the one they could not afford to lose. Some did, and they rarely survived the more mundane battles for long afterwards, not due to overwhelming odds against a superior enemy, but because they gave up. Yet while some surrendered to despair and died, most of the Tiste Andii who followed Anomander Rake held fast to their unshakeable faith in him.

“They follow where you lead,” Brood said. The rumble of his voice, though not loud, felt jarring against the soft silence of the darkness around him. “You give them purpose.”

Anomander turned then, and for a fleeting moment Brood saw what few people ever thought to wonder about: the price of carrying an entire people’s hopes and expectations, the weight of their very existence. And then, just like that, he smiled. All things considered, he carried it well.

Shaking his head, he rounded the table without looking at the dread sword upon it. “It will not be enough,” he said, “not forever. But I have time yet.”

Time for what, exactly, Brood didn’t ask. Anomander would share his plans when he deemed it was time; trying to get anything out of him until then would be like hitting one’s head against a brick wall. Anomander had learnt the secrets of patience well indeed. The thought made Brood smile, a little wryly, and Anomander’s silver eyebrows arched slightly in silent inquiry.

“Do share the joke, Caladan?”

“Just thinking about patience.” 

Anomander tilted his head slightly, amusement writ over his features. “A worthy subject, no doubt.”

“Certainly.”

Then Anomander closed the distance between them. With one hand grasping a fistful of hair at the back of Brood’s head, he pulled him closer for a kiss. “I hope you don’t plan on being too patient with me tonight,” he murmured against Brood’s lips.

Brood chuckled. “We shall see about that.” But there was nothing patient about the way he kissed Anomander again.


End file.
